


attention

by electronic_elevator



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: ...kind of? dry is misleading, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, Kind of angsty, Other, POV Second Person, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Relationship Problems, messing, pants messing, working on boundaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25826629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronic_elevator/pseuds/electronic_elevator
Summary: The Actor needs attention more than he needs his dignity and, when you spend entirely too long working on something thatcan’t possibly be as interesting as him,he messes himself. He gets your attention.
Relationships: Actor Mark/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	attention

**Author's Note:**

> so tragically my WiFi died for like a full day but that did mean I got a lot of writing done. 
> 
> also oh yeah this is plot heavy but hey it's also steamy. and in case it wasn't clear :loudspeaker: this fic's got messing i.e. poop so don't read if you're not into that :loudspeaker:

The Actor was bored… and maybe a little lonely. You had been taking on projects, collaborations with the new _friends_ you were making online… and spending less time with the Actor as a result. You’d sometimes work in the same room as him, but just sitting in the same room didn’t feel like socialization to Mark — you would still be focused in on whatever you were doing, and it just made Mark feel ignored. 

Today, he’d been alone all morning. He was pretty sure you were at the desk you’d sort of claimed in a particular room. 

Mark was trying not to be controlling. In a certain sense he did want you to stop making other friends and stop spending all this time doing things he wasn’t involved with… but he loved you; he wanted you to be happy… and he knew it would only drive a wedge between you if he tried getting you to stop. So the loneliness he’d been dealing with. He’d been as patient as he could be, working on his own projects or just killing time around the manor until you decided to come find him.

But… he was also horny, at the moment. And, if it was that on its own, he’d just jack off and be done with it… but it was the horniness and the loneliness and the boredom and he just really wanted you. 

He’d been right about where you were, and let himself in. “Hey, Y/N.” 

“Hey,” you replied. Barely. Clearly distracted. 

He hovered for a second, then sat down behind you. He kept quiet for a minute or two before asking, “Do you want to go do something? The flowers are blooming in the garden, we could go for a walk.” 

“Hmmm, I’d like to finish this up, first.”

“When will you be done?” he asked, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. 

You turned to him with a slight frown on your face. He hadn’t even asked about what you were doing — he just wanted you to be done. “I don’t know. A couple of hours?”

“Okay,” Mark replied, carefully neutrally. You turned back around, and he laid over the sides of the chair, fiddling with his hands, his clothes, the chair, for the maybe two minutes that was able to occupy him. He got up, walked up behind you, and rested his head on your shoulder. 

“…Maaark,” you said, a note of warning in your tone.

“Whaaat?” Mark mimicked, encircling you in his arms. 

You looked at him and for a minute he thought he was getting somewhere, but all you said was, “I’m in the middle of something, my love; give me a couple hours and we can cuddle if you want.” You kissed him and turned back to the screen and he could’ve screamed. 

He didn’t want to cuddle — he wanted to get fucked. But _anything_ would be better than this. Nonetheless, he let you go, sitting this time on the floor beside you with a grumble. “Aren’t I more interesting than work?” 

You didn’t _eveN ANSWER…_

Mark only lasted another couple of minutes before he spoke up again. “…Have you thought about taking a break?” Mark asked, dismayed to find while your frown didn’t deepen physically, your eyes went darker, more irritated, as you looked at him. “It’s important to take breaks!” he added, a little defensive. 

You hummed, unamused. It was less about _what_ you were doing, which really wasn’t more important to you than him, and more about establishing the boundary with Mark that he needed to let you do your own things — things not involving him. So, you weren’t going to back down. 

…Mark was going to have to take drastic measures. 

He knew this was going nowhere. He… didn’t want to outright admit to being lonely, because then you’d know how selfish he was being, and again, he didn’t want you to think that of him. And, when you were decidedly irritated with him, coming onto you overtly wouldn’t be received well — and having a more pointed advance shut down wasn’t something he wanted to risk from his current position in his emotional landscape. 

Now, you were into some unsavory things. Things the Actor considered himself above; unbefitting of someone like him. (Or, usually. At least, that’s what he said. You had coaxed him into trying plenty, but it was always at your request and under your guidance, so the Actor pretended he didn’t enjoy it and that he did it simply because you’d made him. He certainly wouldn’t admit that that added something. Letting you take him apart and “make” him do so-called out of character things was most of the fun, and the catharsis, for him, no matter what it was you were actually doing.) And… somewhat conveniently… he’d been dimly aware of the need to defecate; it just hadn’t superseded his need for you. It seemed he could, possibly, address both needs at once. 

Even at the thought, his face was heating up. He wrestled with the idea; the part of him that always wanted to uphold his image told him this wasn’t safe, but it was a means to an end and that end was you, who had proved trustworthy enough to see him like that.

“…But, Y/N, I… I really need to go,” he started, biting his lip. He let himself fiddle and squirm there on the floor.

The effect was immediate. You turned to him, computer completely forgotten, with no trace of your former irritation as you watched attentively, wide eyes and raised eyebrows. This was too good to pass up, prior commitment to not giving in to him be damned. 

It was humiliating, but it was working. At least the Actor didn’t have to try to keep the blush off his face — he knew he must be bright red, but he knew you would love that. And fuck if it wasn’t turning him on, for some reason or another that he didn’t want to think deeply on.

You asked, tone harshly teasing: “What, is that why you needed me? You can’t go to the bathroom on your own?” 

“Y/N,” he whined, “I don’t think I’m going to make it.” He stood up, playing it up for you — squirming, grasping his clothes, shyly avoiding eye contact. 

But he didn’t drag it out; it was too embarrassing to keep up for long, and this was all only a means to an end anyway. He squatted slightly — this was never easy for him — and told you, “Can’t hold it,” as he started to push. He grunted a bit with the effort of overriding his body’s better judgement, but he was able to start going. The feeling of release, or rather of crossing the point where he couldn’t stop, was enough to get a real whimper out of him. He forced himself to continue even at the uncomfortable sensation of the first part of his mess pressing back against him due to the fabric of his pants. 

“You’re messing yourself?” you asked, half scathing and half incredulous. 

It sounded ridiculous — the reminder that he was doing this willingly, unprompted even, which in turn reminded him he was literally just doing this for attention. Mark whimpered again, and kept going, adding to his load. It felt like so much already, even though he wasn’t done. The weight of it pressed towards his front, between his legs. He was trying not to let the strain of pushing make him piss himself, as well — it hadn’t occurred to him until he’d already started, but he couldn’t on the nice carpet that covered the floor in this room.

The next part was softer, undoubtably ruining his underwear but easier to pass, clinging against him in a way the earlier part had not.

It was fucking with his head — all of it; the sensation of messing, the feeling of it against him, you watching; he only just then noticed you’d stood, advancing on him slowly. And the relief. He felt noticeably empty, despite the fact that he still _had_ all of it; the smell and the wet heat clung to him. Although he was disgusted with himself for doing it, he was also hopelessly aroused; he’d definitely gotten hard enough that you must see it, must know how much he needs you now. He knew he had tears sparkling in the corners of his eyes.

He, admittedly, hadn’t thought the finer details of this plan through. And now he wasn’t capable of thinking of finer details at all. He figured maybe you would degrade him a bit, clean him up, fuck him good? “Y/N,” he whimpered, because he didn’t care _what_ you did, he just _needed_ you, your attention, your touch.

You were looking at him like you were going to devour him. He did not expect, though, when you advanced on him, causing him to take a step back, smearing his mess around. Mark gasped. 

“Mark,” you admonished, “really? Don’t think I don’t know what you did, messing yourself for my attention. Just like a toddler.” As you talked, you kept advancing at that steady pace, backing Mark up right against the wall. Pressing him against it. 

He cringed, making a disgusted sort of sound because he knew this had spread the mess further — could feel it all over him, between his legs… “Y/N, no,” he whined, but holy fuck, it was warm and slick and he was disgusted only because he knew what it was; on a much baser level… he was bucking his hips forward, grinding onto your thigh, before he even became aware of it. Once he did he felt further humiliated — this was only going to make it worse, only going to ruin his pants… but it felt so good. 

“But look at you, look at how much you like it. You’re so hard, so desperate. You didn’t tell me you wanted _this_ kind of attention.” 

“Y/N, please,” Mark breathed.

“Please what? You’re filthy, Mark, I can’t fuck you like this; you’ll stay right in those messy pants. You’ve already ruined them. If you want to cum, you’ll have to do it right like this,” you told him, but then you were grinding back on him and he was moaning. 

“Does that feel good? ” you asked, kissing up his jaw. “Rutting against me in your mess?” You were dimly worried that he was going to get you dirty, but it was truly a small price to pay to see that look in his eyes.

“Y-yeah,” he said. “God, fuck, Y/N, please…”

“What do you need?”

“Need _you_ ,” he whined. “Need to cum; let me cum for you.”

“Mark,” you breathed, then kissed him and kissed him, rocking into him to help him get closer; his arms rested on your shoulders, meeting gently behind your neck, almost in your hair, and oh this was exactly what he needed.

After a few minutes, he was so close that he was trembling. He just barely broke the kiss to tell you, “Y/N, I’m gonna cum.”

“I know; go ahead, cum for me,” you replied, and it was just a second or two later that you found yourself steadying him as he moaned, bucking his hips forward a last time; you could feel his dick twitching against you even through the clothes as he came hard. You stroked his hair, holding him through it. 

Immediately afterward, Mark was much more aware of the reality of what he’d done, and he whimpered your name.

“Shhhh,” you soothed, letting him cling close to you. “That was a lot, wasn’t it? But it felt good, right? You’re okay. We’ll get you cleaned up.” 

“Now? Please, Y/N, I’m disgusting,” Mark whimpered into your shoulder. 

“Okay, okay, let’s go.” 

———

Cleanup was, unsurprisingly, a nightmare, but after a very long shower you and Mark settled into Mark’s bed and cuddled for a while.

“My love, we should talk about that,” you suggested gently. 

Mark was silent for a moment. “About what?” he asked, despite there only being one thing you could possibly mean. 

“What brought all of that on, mostly,” you said. “You still don’t like me, like, being online.”

Of course he didn’t. Mark didn’t respond again, avoiding eye contact in favor of rubbing circles on your arm with his thumb.

“…I didn’t mean that to sound accusatory. I love you, Mark. But, we’ve talked about this… I’ve got to have other friends, other relationships, a life outside of you.”

And that _hurt,_ even though it shouldn’t. _He_ had a life outside of you… sort of. Throw his whole past out; he didn’t want any of that, really. But his writing, at least — his stories. But even with that… you were his co-star. His romantic interest, even. He wrote with you in mind. 

“I know. I didn’t say you couldn’t,” he said, but it was curt. 

You took his hand. “Please talk to me, Mark. I want to know what you need.” 

…He knew you weren’t going to let this go. “I’ve just been… lonely. I miss you.”

“…We’re still together in the evenings. And the mornings. And I’ve worked beside you some of the time.” You could go on. In fact, you were still spending _most_ of your time with the Actor.

But the facts only made Mark feel worse. He already knew what he was feeling was irrational, that he was being unreasonable. “I _know_ ,” is all he could say. 

You searched his face as you thought. You weren’t going to stop. It wasn’t healthy for him to be your whole life — hell, it wasn’t healthy for you to be Mark’s whole life. You shouldn’t spend every second together to the exclusion of everything else, but that was sort of what Mark had gotten used to. So, you supposed, this was just going to be an adjustment for him. 

“Mark,” you said softly. He looked at you — sad, angry. You sighed, and continued. “How about this? I’m not going to stop. But, you can interrupt me if you need — or want, if need is too strong of a word. Like, needing attention is okay. Just let me know; I can take a break and we can spend some time together, however you want. You’re so important to me, Mark.” 

“…I appreciate that, Y/N,” Mark said. He was being honest, but he left unsaid any of the discontent, all of which he could have repeated. 

“Is it better when I work in the same room as you? You can hang out in that room with the desk I like, too.” 

“No, no… then I just feel ignored,” he said, mumbling at the end. “I know that’s not what you’re doing,” he clarified. 

“I’m… sorry,” you said.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Y/N,” Mark said, tiredly. 

You were quiet for a minute. 

Mark sighed. “I do appreciate you compromising with me. I will. Let you know when I need you, I mean.” 

“I’m glad. I love you, Mark.” 

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> WHY’S THIS HAVE A SAD ENDING—
> 
> anyway. iff you’re 18+ I’m findable on Twitter @electroelevator ùwú anyway yeah sorry for the vast quantities of plot/character motivations but like… lmk what you thought in the comments


End file.
